


Five Times Tony Couldn't Sleep (and the one time he could)

by xxx_cat_xxx



Series: Whumping Tony Stark [13]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, F/M, Fainting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nausea, Post-Avengers (2012), Protective Avengers, Science Bros, Sick Tony, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Sleep Deprivation, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 09:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17619638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxx_cat_xxx/pseuds/xxx_cat_xxx
Summary: Tony gets up from the chair, making for the 3D-hologram area at the other end of the room. But only a few steps in, his head rushes without warning.“Woah,” he breathes, grabbing a table for support as darkness clouds his field of vision. “What the fuck was that?”“That was your blood pressure screaming at you to finally get some rest,” Bruce assesses, stepping over to steady Tony as the man sinks dizzily to the floor. “And I agree with it.” Gently, he pushes Tony’s head between his knees.orSleeping At Last





	Five Times Tony Couldn't Sleep (and the one time he could)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FierceHurricane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FierceHurricane/gifts).



> My first 5+1! And also the first fic that I wrote with a beta, a million thanks to Bethany [(Whumphoarder)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseuds/whumphoarder), who improved the language dramatically. Enjoy!

Tony rubs his eyes exhaustedly. They’re dry and stinging, irritated from countless hours spent staring at a Starkpad and fiddling with code. He spots another error in the programme and corrects it with a sigh. The numbers, usually easier to understand for him than any human behaviour, just won’t come together today.

There’s a soft knock at the door. It is honestly beyond Tony why people still knock in an era where there are retinal scanners at each entry to keep out unwanted visitors and open doors for the wanted ones, but at least it reduces the number of possible intruders down to two, one of whom - Captain Spangles - is ruled out because of his ridiculously regular sleep pattern.

“Hey Brucie,” Tony calls even before the other man has entered. “What brings you here at - “ _God, how has it become 4:30 this quickly?_

“I should ask you the same. This is the, what, fourth night in a row?”

“Just getting these updates done.” Tony rolls his chair back and gestures to a row of devices lined up on the table across from him.

“And that can’t wait until tomorrow?” Bruce asks critically.

“The glitch with the comms not adjusting frequencies automatically was a serious issue last time… Nat wouldn’t have gotten hit if we had been able to warn her. She barely made it through—you know that.”

Bruce looks at him, then sees through him. “It wasn’t your fault, Tony.”

“I know it wasn’t my fault,” he says, a little too quickly. “But it’s my responsibility to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I just can’t figure out what caused it…” He rubs his forehead with furrowed brows. “It’s like my brain is filled with fog.”

Bruce frowns at that admission.

“Anyway,” Tony goes on, “now that you’re here, I’ve got something I wanna show you…”

He gets up from the chair, making for the 3D-hologram area at the other end of the room. But only a few steps in, his head rushes without warning.

“Woah,” he breathes, grabbing a table for support as darkness clouds his field of vision. “What the fuck was that?”

“That was your blood pressure screaming at you to finally get some rest,” Bruce assesses, stepping over to steady Tony as the man sinks dizzily to the floor. “And I agree with it.” Gently, he pushes Tony’s head between his knees.

“That’s unfair,” the other man grumbles. “Back in college, I used to pull five all nighters in a row, and that involved a lot more partying.“

“You’re an old man now,” Bruce teases, but his voice is tinged with concern.

The engineer mumbles something into his knees that sounds a lot like “'Should see yourself.”

“Better?” Bruce asks after a minute, resting a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“Hmm.” Tony nods without looking up.

“Stay put. I’ll make you some tea.”

“I don’t drink strange herbs dissolved in water,” Tony says with a shudder. “You know I’m a full-blooded coffee addict.”

“Trust me with this one—it’s not the normal kind. Just stay there until I’m back.”

Tony, of course, doesn’t listen. When Bruce returns a few minutes later, he’s made it back to his desk on wobbly legs and is squinting at the tablet. Bruce wriggles it out of his fingers with an exasperated sigh and presses a cup of something hot and steaming into his hand.

“This… doesn’t smell like tea,” Tony says warily.

“It’s Chai. The real one, not the nonsense they sell at Starbucks.” He watches as Tony takes a tentative sip, then another, and a bit of colour returns to his cheeks.

“Where’d you learn that?” Tony nods at the cup.

“In Kolkata,” Bruce replies. His gaze goes a bit distant as he adds, “I miss it sometimes, you know? It’s the weirdest kind of place, but it took me in.”

“Why did you come down here, actually?” Tony asks, now looking up at him intensely.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Bruce shrugs. “Guess I wasn’t the only one.”

“Yeah.” Tony gives him an exhausted smile. “Tell me about it…”

\---

Joining a mission after four straight days of staying awake was definitely not the best idea, but Tony isn’t exactly known for making sensible choices.

Luckily, the battle finishes quickly, leaving him sitting on the edge of a curb, knowing full well that his slumped-over posture is looking anything but heroic to the camera crews filtering in from all sides. On the other hand, it would certainly be worse publicity if he took a swan dive in front of the assembled press, which, unfortunately, is a very likely scenario considering the way the world is currently wobbling around the edges.

He’s just trying to gather the strength to make it upright and join Nat in talking to the reporters when he spots a blurred figure approaching quickly from behind a corner, raised gun aimed right at the assassin.

Tony fires without thinking. He might have forgotten that the repulsors were still set to full power, because the next thing that follows is an ear-splitting bang and a cloud of smoke rising up from what used to be a bus stop.

“What the fuck, Stark?!”

He blinks when a very upset Nat is suddenly standing over him, and seriously, that’s one of the moments when he understands why people are sometimes afraid of her.

“You can’t complete a single mission without destroying New York?” she demands. “What was that for? Trying out your new tech? Impressing the tabloids?”

“Calm down,” Tony hisses, more than a little annoyed. “We didn’t get all of them, there was someone sneaking up on us. I just saved your ass.”

“What?” Nat’s angry expression morphs into confusion as she turns around and surveys the area. “There’s nobody here, Tony.”

“No, no, that’s not right.“ He gets to his feet shakily, steadying himself against a streetlamp until the familiar blackness fades from his vision. He uses the suit’s sensors to zoom in at the heap of rubble, but true to Nat’s word, there is no sign of an attacker.

“I thought I… never mind,” he mumbles.

“You know your little stunt was caught on camera, right?” Nat asks, still annoyed, but with a bit of concern now mixed into her tone. “And that I’ve got to report it to SHIELD if my team members have health issues that can negatively influence their ability to - “

“That’s not - I’m not having flashbacks, okay?” he interrupts her, anger flaring up. “I just - I thought I saw something. Someone. Won’t happen again.”

“I wasn’t talking about PTSD, Stark. You are aware that sleep deprivation can lead to hallucinations?”

“I’m - gosh.” Tony rubs his eyes wearily. He really, really doesn’t have the energy for this argument right now. “That’s none of your business.”

“It becomes my business as soon as it compromises the mission.” Nat gives him a glare, but her eyes have gone soft. “Go home, Tony. I’ll handle SHIELD and the press. Do us all a favour and get some sleep.”

“If only it were that easy,” he mutters under his breath. But he fires up his thrusters all the same and takes off into the sky, decidedly not looking back at the disaster he’s caused.

\---

 

Tony wakes up drenched in cold sweat, his breaths coming in short, painful gasps. The sheets next to him are empty.

“Jarvis?” he croaks.

“It is 3:52 a.m., Sir. You are in your quarters at Stark Tower. It is currently drizzling, with a high probability of heavy rains for the coming day. You have been asleep for one hour and 37 minutes. You started to exhibit signs of distress sixteen minutes ago.” The AI hesitates a moment. “You were also talking in your sleep. If I may, Sir, would you like to know the current status of Miss Potts?”

“Yeah,” Tony breathes.

“I can access a video feed of the security cameras in the Hong Kong hotel she is currently residing at, if you’d like to see it.”

Tony nods weakly into the darkness, trusting Jarvis’ ultrasharp sensors to pick it up.

The screen above the bed lights up, displaying a slightly pixelated image of Pepper in business attire, taking notes on a Starkpad while nodding politely at an equally formally dressed man seated across from her.

A small field with name and designation appears next to the man’s head, revealing his position as the head of one of Stark Asia’s subsidiaries.

“Thanks, J,” Tony says hoarsely after a few minutes. “You can close it now.”

The AI doesn’t reply, but the room illuminates with a warm light that leaves no shadows in the corners. Bless Jarvis for knowing what he needs when Tony himself doesn’t.

He sits up slowly, his fingers gliding over the soft fabric of the blankets, then feeling for the bathrobe that’s draped over a nearby chair. He lets his fingertips run over the slightly uneven wall while he makes his way to the bathroom. Then he rests his hand on the doorknob, feeling its solidness.

Real, he reminds himself, because sometimes the present is elusive, sometimes it’s so much harder than it should be to figure out what’s there and what isn’t.

He sits on the bathroom tiles for a while, enjoying the chill seeping into his bones, anchoring him. He thinks of Pepper somewhere in Hong Kong, far, far away. Safe.

He knows that sleep is not going to come to him now.

When he finally steps into the shower, Jarvis has already adjusted the temperature and his morning playlist is issuing softly from the speakers.

\---

“Honestly, I don’t get the sense of ‘brunching’,” Tony states while tossing down his third cup of coffee that morning. “Maria’s a grown-up girl, she should host a party like normal adults do. Get drunk, let loose, bully Fury into singing Karaoke - you know what I mean.”

“Not everyone’s like you, Tony,” Steve replies good-naturedly, but still with this slightly lecturing note in his voice that sometimes drives Tony crazy. “Some people like to celebrate their birthday without it ending in fistfights and drunken guests throwing up everywhere.”

“Hey, that was one time!” Tony retorts, “And it’s not a fistfight if armour is involved.” He reaches over the extensive buffet to grab the coffee pot and refill his cup.

“Haven’t you had enough of that already?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Can’t you let a guy have his small vices?” Tony deflects. He tries to scoop sugar from a delicate porcelain bowl into his cup, but his hands are jittering so much that half of it ends up on the tablecloth.

With a small sigh, Steve takes the spoon from his hands, adding sugar and stirring calmly. “You sure you’re alright?” he adds, handing the cup back to Tony.

“Yes, Spangles. Stop mother-henning me,” Tony replies. He suppresses a belch when the first sip of coffee doesn’t quite settle well.

They stand in silence while he sips the beverage, until Steve spots Sam on the other side of the room and goes over to talk to him, and Tony is left squirming uncomfortably. He’s full of nervous energy just waiting to be transformed into new inventions in his workshop, but he still has to wait through another few hours of polite conversation and boring toasts before he will be able to disappear.

Ironically, today is the first morning in a while that he actually feels like he might be able to sleep if he tried hard enough. But the prospect of everyone’s irritation if he misses Hill’s birthday celebration kept him away from bed.

He’s thus settled on caffeine to fight the tiredness and reduce the headache throbbing behind his temples. The coffee has so far accomplished its job of keeping him upright without getting dizzy, but it also makes his stomach burn and causes a vague feeling of nausea that only increases as time goes on.

“You haven’t tried the cake,” a kind voice says from behind him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Here, have a piece,” Laura Barton offers, holding it out. Then she seems to think better of it and sets it on the counter in front of Tony. “I made it, not Clint, so you don’t have to worry about getting poisoned.”

Tony tries to come up with a way of politely declining, his stomach somersaulting at the thought of food, but Laura has an aura about her that makes it almost impossible to say no. It reminds him faintly of Pepper. He has no illusions about who calls the shots in the Barton household.

“Thanks,“ he says, taking a tentative bite. He has to swallow twice to get the piece down, and then he can feel it sitting heavily at the end of his throat. He stifles another belch that brings with it the sour taste of acid.

“It’s great,” he lies while taking a deep breath, attempting to will the nausea away.

It doesn’t work. Instead, he can feel bile creeping up his throat. The urge to gag is suddenly overwhelming.

“Are you okay?” Laura asks.

Tony just presses the plate back into her hand. “Sorry,” he chokes out before making a break for the bathroom.

He only makes it to the sink before hot and bitter liquid is forcing its way upwards and splashing into the basin. It still carries the smell of coffee, making him even more nauseous. He barely manages to catch a breath before he heaves again, bringing up another gush of vomit.

The throbbing behind his forehead intensifies and he closes his eyes against the pain. He’s coughing and sputtering, steadying himself on the basin, when he hears the door to the bathroom open.

“Occupied,” he croaks. But there’s already a hand on his back, patting him hesitantly.

“Tony, what’s going on?” a voice asks, and yep, out of all people that could have come to pee at this very moment, it has to be Captain Fucking Righteous.

“Nothing,” Tony pants, “Go away - ugh.”

He retches again and brings up a mouthful of bile.

“Are you sick?” Steve’s hand now moves towards his neck to feel his temperature, and no, this is not happening.

“It’s nothing.” Tony bats his hand away. “Just overdid it with the coffee today. You were right, be happy.”

“I wasn’t - that’s not what I’m thinking,” Steve says defensively.

“But you were also wrong,” Tony continues, spitting into the basin. “Apparently, brunching doesn’t reduce the risk of people ending up barfing.”

Steve ignores his banter. “Can I get you anything?”

A bed, a new head, and truckload of aspirin are all high on his list, but Tony settles for the easiest.

“Glass of water and some mint would be marvellous,” he says, and Steve is gone within a second. The guy is so helpful that it’s a plague.

To the best of his ability, he avoids looking at the brownish mess he’s made. His stomach is still more than queasy as he starts the water.

By the time Steve returns, the evidence is cleared and Tony’s game face is reestablished.

\---

The anniversary of his parents’ death has always been a night without the remotest hope of catching sleep. It is also the one night a year during which Pepper doesn’t say anything when Tony drinks himself senseless.

In earlier years, Rhodey used to always be around on that date—ever since the very first time in college when he’d found Tony passed out in a puddle of his own sick with a BAC of 0.3. Then Pepper moved in, and Tony would be moody and irritable all night, demanding her to leave him alone, secretly praying she’d stay. She always did.

But this time, Pepper is still in Hong Kong - the negotiations taking longer than expected - and after the first few glasses of scotch, he finds himself turning his phone over in his hands, contemplating calling a few of his old business contacts and inviting himself to one of those parties that have more recreational substances floating around than actual food.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls up the second number on his speed dial. It takes less than a full ring before Rhodey picks up.

“Hey man,” Tony greets jovially, “What’re you up to?”

Then, after a second, he quietly adds, “It’s bad tonight.”

The _can you come over_ goes unsaid. It’s only a few minutes before the War Machine armour makes a soft landing on the balcony. Rhodey steps out of the suit and into the warmth of the living room.

“Here.” Tony turns around from the bar, a bit unsteady on his feet, and presses a glass into Rhodey’s hand. “To all those sweepers that keep the roads free of ice.”

Rhodey clinks his glass against Tony’s, his eyes wide and sad. Tony doesn’t pass out that night, but Rhodey almost wishes he did.

\---

The annual Maria Stark Foundation Gala takes place a few days after the anniversary, all of which Tony spends on a single workshop binge, running on coffee, AC/DC, and the deliberate aversion of any thoughts not related to R&D.

Pepper, who finally returns after a successful conclusion of “the greatest bargaining endeavor in history” (in the words of her PA), hauls him out of the lab a few hours before the Gala, threatening to fly right back to Hong Kong if he doesn’t shower and dress up.

Tony’s head his swimming when he bends over the sink to wash his face. He feels weak, almost feverish. When he starts to shave, his hands are trembling so hard that his usually perfect goatee comes out looking more like a modern art caricature of symmetry than anything else.

Pepper eyes his crooked beard, his haggard face, and the black circles beneath his eyes with a frown when she hands him the cue cards for his speech. She’s ushered into the changing room by an assistant before she can comment.

Tony manages a speech that leaves the audience laughing themselves to tears, without actually comprehending a single word of what he says. All the time, he clings to the lectern, painfully aware only of the weakness in his limbs and his own heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears.

He staggers down from the stage just to see Pepper emerging from the changing room in a breathtaking sleeveless gown. He might have been swaying a bit, because her eyes go wide upon seeing him and she hurries in his direction.

“You look fantastic,” he manages to say before the static in his ears grows deafening and the ground rushes up to meet him.

He comes to with his head in Pepper’s lap and a group of assistants encircling him, heatedly debating the best course of action.

“Hey,” she says, her expression serious. “You back with us?”

“Hmm,” he grunts, trying to focus on his surroundings through the dizziness and pulsing headache.

“Can you get up?” she asks.

“Yeah, of course,” he mumbles. But his legs are jelly when he tries to get them under him. “Or maybe I’ll just stay here for a while. The view is great,” he says weakly.

Pepper doesn’t even give an answer. Instead, she pushes an arm behind his back to sit him up. With the help of Happy, they get Tony to his feet and manage to maneuver him to the couch in the backstage room.

Tony sinks heavily onto the cushions. Pepper sits down next to him, waving at Happy to close the door and wait outside.

“So. What’s going on?” she asks calmly, but Tony knows her too well not to hear the panic barely contained in her voice. “And don’t dare tell me that you’re fine, because I’m not an idiot.”

“I’m okay, Pepper - quit giving me that look,” he starts.

“By what definition was that ‘okay’?” she interrupts in an icy tone.

“Okay, as in, I swear there’s nothing majorly wrong with me. Just had a bit of trouble sleeping over the past few weeks,” he concedes. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Except for you passing out in the middle of a public Gala.”

“Where would be the fun in life without the little surprises?” he jokes in a weak voice. He can feel fatigue washing over him in waves, making his body numb and heavy.

“Sleep deprivation, that’s all it is?” Pepper probes. “ Can I trust you on this? I won’t regret it if I don’t haul you to a hospital right now?”

“You can trust me on everything, you know that.” A moment of pain washes over her face, so brief that he nearly misses it.

“Hey. That was two years ago. Look at me, Pep.” It takes a lot of energy to lift his arm and reach out to touch her face. He looks her straight into the eyes. “I’m not dying. I promise.”

“Okay,” she says after a moment. She doesn’t look completely convinced, but it seems she decides to let it go for now. “You can’t go back in like this. And we can’t leave the Gala early without the press going wild.”

“Trust me, I don’t wanna move,” Tony says. The world is turning fuzzy before his eyes now, greyness creeping in from the edges. “Nothing wrong with backstage couches - I’m speaking from experience. Let’s just stay here for a bit.”

Pepper bites her lip to suppress a smile.

He lets his head fall down below her shoulder, nestling his face into the soft spot between her neck and collarbone. He is vaguely aware of her hands in his hair, a warm and steady presence holding him. And then, in an uncharacteristically nonchalant fashion, Tony Stark falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt: _I’ve been sleeping very badly so I’m craving to read a severely sleep deprived Tony (like passing out, dizziness, being sick/not able to stomach food, exhaustation etc.) Basically all the angst and all the hurt. Pick whoever you want for comfort (and it’s totally ok if you don’t have time or just don’t wanna do it)_
> 
> I remember that you like the original Avengers, so I wrote this to take place after the first movie. I know that bringing in Laura Barton messes with the timeline, but she showed up to the party and I didn´t have the heart to make her leave. 
> 
> I love comments :) Find me on [tumblr](https://xxx-cat-xxx.tumblr.com/) .


End file.
